Ice Skating
by we're-all-stories17
Summary: Winter in Ottawa-the perfect time for skating. Even if you've never been before; even if one of you is a hunter and the other is an angel; and even if skating isn't the only thing you end up doing.


Dean winced as the laces he was attempting to tighten dug into his cold fingers, pulling his hands inside his coat-sleeves as soon as the strings were knotted and taking a moment to watch the fluffy white flakes of snow tumbling down from the clouds. In this weather, with the snow falling steadily and not even a scrap of blue in sight, the flakes looked as if they'd broken off from the sky itself. The Winchesters didn't often get to see anything like this—rarely were they even far enough north to get real snow. Now, having driven all the way here, and with the case satisfactorily completed…well, Dean wasn't going to waste an opportunity. He wished Sam had agreed to come with—but thanks to Stanford Sam seemed to know people all over the place, and he'd opted instead for visiting some old friends. Still, no matter—he was determined to enjoy himself.

Hands sufficiently warmed, he moved on to the other skate. The pair was somewhat ragged and worn, being borrowed from one of Sam's friends, and he wasn't sure they fit him quite right; they seemed a little loose around his toes. He braced himself on the back of the bench as he attempted to stand and immediately had to sit back down, reflecting that the quality of the skates combined with the fact that he'd never been skating before in his life probably didn't herald a successful end to this endeavour. At least if Sam were here, he wouldn't look so stupid falling flat on his face as he would by himself.

A crazy idea seized him suddenly, and on a whim he said to the empty air, "Cas? You up there?"

After several moments of with no sign of the angel, he sighed and resigned himself to the fact that Cas was busy—getting hold of him was difficult even when things were serious, much less when Dean just wanted to have some fun. He didn't know why he'd even bothered, really. It had been stupid to think—

He nearly slid off the bench in surprise when he turned to find Cas seated next to him, watching him intently. "Jesus, Cas! I told you not to _do_ that!"

"Do what?" Cas asked, frowning in confusion.

"Just—_appear_—like that—oh, never mind. How long can you stay?"

"As long as you need."

Dean felt a twinge of guilt at this—now that he thought about it, when had he ever called Cas down _except_ for assistance? "I mean, are you busy?" Yanking Cas down out of heaven to go ice-skating seemed rather unfair if he were right in the middle of something.

Cas stared at him blankly. "Busy?"

"I'll take that as a _no_, then. Well, zap up a pair of skates and let's get going."

"I don't understand. What are we doing? Why do I need skates?"

"Come on, Cas…" Dean ruffled the disgruntled angel's already messy hair, grinning as Cas tried to duck away. "Sam and I drove all the way to Canada—you think I'm gonna pass up the chance to do some skating?"

"But…" started Cas, and Dean almost laughed at how bewildered he looked. "What do you need me for?"

"I don't _need_ you for anything," said Dean, rolling his eyes. "I just wanted to hang out." When Cas still hesitated, he sighed and added, "When was the last time you had a vacation, Cas? Heaven can survive without you for two hours."

Finally, after several moments of internal conflict, Cas conceded, "Alright," though he still looked doubtful. A pair of skates, already properly laced, appeared on his feet to replace his shoes, and while a few tries were required both eventually managed to get to their feet.

"Have you ever actually done this before?" Cas asked as they made their way to the edge of the Rideau Canal.

"Nope," said Dean cheerfully. Contemplating the curb separating the ice from the solid ground, his smile faded somewhat, and he added, "How the hell are we supposed to get on?"

Cas shrugged, already looking as if he were regretting agreeing to this in the first place. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as Dean grabbed his shoulder. "What are you…?"

"Trying to stay upright, idiot." Leaning heavily on Cas, and extremely aware of how lacking in grace the maneuver was, he lifted one foot down onto the ice. "Check it out—halfway there…"

Both feet were now planted somewhat unsteadily on the frozen river; Dean waved his arms triumphantly as if to say "look, no hands!" and promptly had to steady himself with Cas again to keep from wiping out.

Balance regained once more he said, "Okay, your turn." When Cas hesitated, he automatically held a hand out; Cas took it before Dean could consider how the action would look to anyone around them.

Now that they had accomplished actually getting on, he was unsure what exactly was supposed to come next. He spent some minutes staring at curly ginger-haired girl who wore a pair of turquoise leg warmers over her white figure skates, watching her feet carefully in an attempt to work out how she was gliding along so smoothly. He turned to Cas to tell him what he'd managed to pick up, and realized they were still holding hands. Letting go hurriedly, he tried to cover up the incident by saying, "I think you kind of…push off with one foot, and then… uh… do the other, I guess?"

The still-falling snow had coated the ice with a fluffy layer of flakes, which in Dean's opinion served only to make the ice more slippery than it would be normally. Within ten feet of their starting point, each had had to grab onto the other more than once to keep from falling; at first Dean couldn't help glancing around self-consciously, but soon he was laughing too hard to even think about it. Cas, of course, was perfectly comfortable with it, or at least no more uncomfortable than he was with anything else—since he still struggled with the concept of personal space, Dean doubted he found anything unusual about the current situation at all.

They'd made it a fair distance by now, and Dean felt he was beginning to catch on. All you had to do was balance your weight…build up a sort of rhythm…He was starting to say as much to Cas when the blade of one skate hit a rough patch of ice, throwing him totally off.

Cas reached out instinctively to grab him under the arms, attempting to pull him upright while still maintaining his own shaky balance. With a great amount of effort on his part, a good deal of swearing from Dean, and quite a bit of laughter from both, they managed to get Dean safely back on his feet. Keeping a hold of Cas's arm as he caught his breath he tried not to stare at the angel's face, lit up in a rare smile.

"What?" Cas asked. Either Dean hadn't been as subtle as he'd thought, or Cas just knew him well enough to pick up on it anyways. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing." Dean shook his head, partly to dismiss the question and partly to try and clear it. "I guess I just don't see you laugh a lot."

Cas shrugged, remarking that he supposed angels weren't usually amused very often; then he added, with the startling honesty that marked him in Dean's eyes as other than human, "Perhaps it's unique to humans—you're the only one who can ever make me laugh. And Sam too, sometimes. But never any of my brethren."

They looked at each other without saying anything for a moment. Then Dean, becoming aware of how close together they were, pulled away abruptly, tugging at Cas's sleeve to get him to keep moving. "That's pretty sad, Cas" he said, though the lightness of his tone sounded slightly forced even to him. "Because as Sam points out _frequently_, my jokes are terrible."

Though by this time Dean's face was freezing and muscles he'd never had to use before were beginning to ache, he didn't want to stop. He'd always thought Canadians were crazy for coming up with this sport in the first place, much less keeping the tradition going—whether it was hockey, or figure skating, or just plain skating, the fact remained that you were deliberately putting yourself on an extremely unstable piece of ground and heading out into sub-zero temperatures, both conditions most normal people tried to avoid. But this, skating through the snow with Cas—even if it was only "skating" by the loosest definition of the word, based on their skill level—well, it was kind of fun. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself this much. Sam didn't know what he was missing.

"Man, look at these frigging kids," said Dean, grimacing at a young boy whizzing around after his sister in a high-speed game of tag. "I mean, that guy's—what, six? And he's, like, fifty times better than me."

"I suspect it has something to do with the size—" Cas started to say, when the child in question changed his path suddenly to shoot right in front of the pair. Both tried to stop, instinctively grabbing onto each other as they attempted to simultaneously skid to an abrupt halt on the slippery surface and remain upright.

Dean was the first to fall, landing flat on his back while refusing to relinquish his grip on Castiel's arm, with the result that he pulled the angel down on top of him. For several seconds he simply lay on the ice, staring up at the sky as his mildly stunned brain made an effort to work out what had just happened. He tried to move his legs, but found they had somehow become entangled with Cas's.

When he at last managed to raise himself onto his elbows, it was to see an equally dazed Cas staring bemusedly at their intertwined legs, and the child responsible for their collapse skating away obliviously, still in hot pursuit of his sister. "How did this even…I thought you were under me," said Cas.

"So did I." Their eyes met, and Dean wasn't sure who started it but they both dissolved into laughter once more.

"It's a good thing you're here," said Dean, after they'd calmed down slightly. "I mean, imagine how embarrassing that would've been if I was by myself."

Cas smiled, though Dean doubted he understood what he was talking about. Then, without any warning, he leaned over and kissed Dean on the mouth.

The action caught him so off guard his brain seemed to revert to its stunned state of only a few minutes earlier. For some reason, even though there were a _million_ other things he should have been thinking—_why is he doing this what should I do can anyone see why the hell did we start letting him watch TV—_what pushed its way to the front of his mind was how Cas's cold lips felt against his own. And what shocked him even more, eliciting yet another period of dazzlingly prompt inaction, was that it felt…well, that it felt _good._ Right. Like kissing Castiel, out here in the middle of Ottawa amongst dozens of people, was the most natural thing in the world.

Suddenly coming to his senses, he pulled away hastily. "Whoa, whoa! Where the hell did _that_ come from?"

"I thought…" Cas began uncertainly, his expression quickly changing to one of mortification. He dropped his gaze to avoid meeting Dean's eyes, and although the cold had already flushed his cheeks Dean thought he could see a blush beginning to deepen the colour. "I saw other people doing it…I thought it was what you did, with someone you liked. And"—here his voice dropped so low Dean could barely hear it—"I just…wanted to." Staring down at the ice as if the lines gouged into it by other skaters were the most enthralling things he'd ever seen, he mumbled, "Sorry."

What the hell was he supposed to do now? As far as he could figure there were only two reasonable options here. The first was to explain, as kindly as he could, that kissing was an action usually reserved for sexual partners, and that although he was very fond of Cas_ as a friend_ he was straight and therefore only felt that way about women, something Cas was decidedly not; which would result, most probably, in a period of awkwardness of undetermined length but which seemed likely to occupy most of the foreseeable future—as well as an end to their skating venture.

Or, on the other hand, he could admit that he had actually kind of, maybe, _possibly_ enjoyed the kiss just a _little_, and that he might not in fact be one hundred percent averse to trying it again—perhaps this time for a bit longer, and with a little tongue. Which was the truth, he realized with jolt of surprise; and as well as leading to a continuation of the skating might, potentially, give rise to a relationship that lasted more than two days.

Not really much of a choice at all, when it came down to it.

Cas had begun untangling his legs from Dean's, obviously keen to get away—the only reason Dean could think of for him not having disappeared already was that he was too flustered to think straight. When Dean placed a hand gently on his knee he turned away, muttering something about how he ought to get going anyways; but his head shot up when Dean said, "Hey, man, I didn't say I didn't like it."

Blinking uncomprehendingly, as if certain he'd misheard, Cas stared at him in amazement. "Um…"

"Oh, come here, you dumb angel." He grinned and pulled Cas's face towards him to press their lips together for a second time.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could hardly believe he was doing this. Kissing another guy, let alone in _public_—and Cas, of all people—that just wasn't something Dean Winchester _did_, ever. He had never met anyone more ostentatiously _straight_ than himself; although, now he came to think of it, he could remember Sam making stupid jokes about overcompensating on occasion…and he couldn't deny that this wasn't exactly the first time he'd thought about Cas _that_ way, even if he'd always pushed those thoughts hurriedly to the back of his mind. Well, okay, _always_ aside from a few times in the shower when—

They broke apart again, and Dean couldn't help noticing the way Cas ran his tongue over his lips involuntarily, like he was savouring the taste of Dean's mouth on his own.

"Can you get up?" asked Cas.

"Wow, you really don't waste time, huh?"

"What?"

"… Oh. Get up off the ice. Not… okay. Gotcha."

"I don't understand what you're talking about."

_Figures_, Dean thought, remembering Cas was still a virgin. Not the kind he went for ordinarily—generally he preferred women with experience—but hey, when it came to guys, he was pretty new as well (excluding a few rather hazy encounters that had all occurred following the consumption of vast amounts of alcohol). Plus, how many people could honestly say they'd deflowered an angel? Oh, this was going to be _fun._

"Never mind. I'm sure you'll get it eventually," said Dean, raising his eyebrows wickedly. His expression turned to a frown when he actually made an attempt at getting back to his feet; he had nothing to hoist himself up by, and the ice was just too damn slippery for him to get a grip. "How the hell are you supposed to—_fuck_—"

Though the process was far from graceful they made it, in the end, after several tries and much holding on to each other. And now, as they continued on their slow, ungainly way down the frozen river, Dean had no qualms about taking hold of Cas's hand, proud to show that _yes_, they _were_ together. Cas was _his._ For his part, Cas couldn't seem to keep a smile off his face; and while the glow in his cheeks remained, it seemed now to stem from a combination of cold and happiness.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that—could you…?"

"You in the middle of a fight or something? What's all that noise?"

Sam sighed in annoyance and switched the phone to his other ear. "No, no, Dean and Cas are just—watching TV."

"Pretty enthusiastically, by the sounds of it," said Bobby sarcastically.

"They're, uh, fighting over the remote." Or they had been, at least. The object in question lay forgotten on the couch, though Dean and Cas were still wrestling furiously on Dean's bed. They were shouting insults animatedly at each other, made hard to distinguish by laughter. It was kind of cute, in a rather sickening way.

"And how _are_ our favourite lovebirds, while we're on the subject?"

"Don't ask," said Sam with a groan. "God. They're all over each other, _all_ the time." It was a mark of the truth of the statement that the remark prompted no response from Dean, who appeared too engaged in struggling to free his arms from where Cas had pinned them to the bed to hear. "At least they're happy, I guess. But I wish they'd be a little _less_ happy when I'm around."

"Yeah, right," said Bobby, snorting derisively. "I think you're going to be third wheeling for a while—might as well get used to it."

"_You_ try eating your lunch with the two of them _groping _each other across the table from you." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I don't think it's possible to get used to that."

"Probably comes with being the younger brother. Sorry, Sam," said Bobby, though he didn't sound particularly sincere—more like he was trying not to laugh.

Sam sighed again and replied resignedly, "Well, I guess I've dealt with worse…" Frowning slightly at the suddenly suspicious silence in the room behind him he cast a glance over his shoulder.

His exclamation made Bobby laugh outright: "Oh my God you guys, cut it out! I'm still _here_!Would you…are you even listening? Fuck you! I'm sleeping somewhere else tonight!"

Ignoring the growl of protest from Cas, Dean pulled away from their kiss to watch the door to their room slam behind his brother. "_Finally_," he said. "I thought he'd never leave."

"Stop talking," Cas instructed, his voice muffled somewhat by the fact that he had moved to nip at Dean's exposed collarbone—the struggle for the remote had mysteriously resulted in his shirt ending up on the other side of the room, while Cas's pants were already undone and halfway down his ass.

Dean's only response was tighten the grip his legs had around Cas's waist, bucking his hips up to grind their already hardening crotches together. Grinning at the groan this produced, he seized the opportunity provided by the momentarily loosened hold on his wrists to flip Cas onto his back. "That's cheating!" Cas protested, struggling unsuccessfully to get back on top.

"Hey, all's fair in love and war, right?" Dean captured his mouth in another heated kiss before tracing a line with his tongue along the line of Cas's jaw. His shirt was pushed open for Dean's fingers to find his nipples, silencing any further objections; and when he felt a hand palming his stiff cock through his jeans he forced himself to push it away firmly. Sliding off Cas and onto his knees on the ground between Cas's legs he tugged the angel's pants the rest of the way down and said, "Besides—it's your turn tonight, hot stuff."

He was rather impressed, given the shiver of anticipation he'd just felt his words elicit, that Cas was still managing to hold it together enough to try one more time: "But—"

"No buts. Your mouth is not going anywhere near my penis until you learn to stop biting, and that is _final_." In retrospect, perhaps, that incident hadn't been _entirely_ Cas's fault; Dean probably ought not to have let him try when he was already so heated up—on only their third time, too—and chances were now Dean would never let him live it down.

"That was _one_ time—" Cas started to say, the sentence dying into an unintelligible moan halfway through.

Dean would have replied, but he remembered learning as a child that it was rude to talk with your mouth full.

Half dozing in bed, Dean felt Cas slide in beside him and rolled over lazily to face his partner. "You're fucking _amazing_, you know?" he said as he traced a finger down Cas's bare chest.

"You mean at sex?"

"Just…at everything. Everything about you is just…I love it. I love you." He chuckled, adding, "But yeah, okay, you're getting pretty good at sex."

"Well, I had a very good teacher." It was hard to see his expression clearly in the dark room, but it looked as deadpan as usual; Dean couldn't tell if he were joking or not.

"Mmm. You sure did." He gave Cas one last sleepy kiss goodnight before rolling back over, tucking himself under Cas's arm and pressing up close against the angel. "You still suck at skating, though."

"So do you."

"Fair enough."

There were a few moments of silence, and Dean was beginning to drift off to sleep when Cas said quietly, "Dean?"

"Hmm," Dean acknowledged drowsily.

"I love you too."

"I know." The feel of Cas's lips brushing gently against the back of his neck was the last thing he was aware of before falling asleep.

When Sam slipped quietly into the room an hour later—whatever he'd said earlier, he'd always intended on coming back rather than dealing with all the hassle of finding somewhere else to spend the night—it was to see the couple curled together under the covers of Dean's bed, sleeping peacefully.


End file.
